Ending Credits
by Hsuan
Summary: Exactly two months since his lover left him, and he was still finding things around the house that didn't belong to him... A cautionary tale of breaking up, making up, and growing up
1. 01

01

_With eminent grace she enters through the swinging doors, carefully centering all her awareness towards the floor, because she knew the instant she raised her eyes, no matter how strong her determination to avoid him, her gaze would instantly begin their search for that slick silhouette like a lost ship seeking its beacon…_

Delete. Delete. Delete.

_  
With eminent grace she enters through the swinging doors, smiling that professional dazzling smile, professionally greeting the hoard of anonymous faces, as she sailed professionally through the crowd towards the punch bowl, where she could professionally drink herself to oblivion, thus lessening the chances of her having to deal with unpleasantries, particularly ones regarding a certain he-who-shall-remain-unnamed…_

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

_  
With eminent grace she enters through the swinging doors… And there, taking center stage right under the colossal French crystal chandelier was the object of all her affections, hatred, and every other emotion in between… Slow dancing to 'wind beneath my wings' with another woman._

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

_  
With eminent grace she enters through the swinging doors, walks straight up to him and says, "You know what I think of you and your little mind-fuck games?" Before sending a swift fist into his perfect little nose._

That one made him smile. If only the editors had his sense of humor when it came to anti-climatic writing. Which, of course, they did not, so he ended up deleting that paragraph along with the entire page, and stared at the blinking curser for a good solid minute before he realized that if he failed to complete the chapter he might not live to see the break of dawn. It was a quarter past four AM, and it was becoming apparent to him now that deciding to take a nap that afternoon was a very, very bad idea.

One hour had passed since he got up to refill his coffee mug, two since he discovered he went through his last pack of cigarettes, three days since he finished all the food and beer in the house, and a week since his ability to write had completely, and utterly, evaporated into the ozone….

And exactly two months since his lover left him.

He was still finding shit around the house that didn't belong to him. A mug here, a CD there, and pocky wrappers all over the damn place. There was still hair stuck in his drain, foreign pills in his medicine cabinet, and a beat-up orange sweatshirt in his closet. It had finally annoyed him to the point that he came home one day dragging a large cardboard box, and went through the house shoveling the alien items into it. He had thrown the box into his backseat, put his foot to the pedal and did ninety an hour all the way to the Salvation Army, only to turn back right before entering the parking lot.

Since then the box had taken up residence in the corner of the living room, and every time he was in there watching TV, he could swear that the box was talking to him. When he passed it again a couple nights ago on rout to the kitchen he finally decided that the voices coming from inside was really creeping the shit out of him and that the box HAD to go. Besides, something in there was starting to smell.

He had tried calling, but he was beginning to develop a sinking suspicion that his calls were being intentionally avoided. After filling up his coffee mug with espresso blacker than ink, he picked up the phone and dialed again. Five rings later a boyishly charming voice on the other line greeted him.

"Hello, you've reached me. But I'm not here right now, so leave your name and number after the beep and if I like you enough, I'll call back. Alright, bye!"

He mentally noted that the voice mail had changed, before there was a loud beep, and he was forced to speak.

"…… Tomorrow night, the Kabeya charity event at the Hilton. I know you're going. Meet me by the back door at eight thirty. I have your stuff."

He hung up and took a long sip from his mug, sauntering back to his office. Now that that was over with, back to the more important part…

_  
With eminent grace she enters through the swinging doors. Conveniently, he seemed to have arrived mere minutes before her, and just so happened to be standing directly by the entrance way. They locked eyes, and he greeted her with horribly forced sincerity, and an equally forced smile. She returned it with a cool smile of her own. "This could have been easily avoided if you had half a brain and would take your shit with you when you moved out."_

-------------------------

After having his editor literally stand over his shoulder and forced him to finish the manuscript, driving all the way across town to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners, taking a quick power nap followed by an even quicker shower, being stuck smack dab in the middle of a traffic jam, almost running over a couple of kids, and just barely avoiding collision with a UPS truck, he finally arrived at the Hilton in one piece.

And with eminent grace, he entered through the swinging doors at exactly seven o'clock.

During the next hour and a half he smiled, he drank, and socialized with feigned civility. He made a decent enough donation to at least stop the press from continuing to print stories about him being a heartless rich douche that never donates to anything. He tried the h'ors doeurves and decided that who ever was responsible for the catering of this event deserved to be bitch slapped. He walked around the ballroom and even accepted an invitation to dance. And finally, he resorted to simply taking a seat, and surveyed the crowd for familiar faces. He found none.

At eight thirty, he politely handed his champagne glass over to a waiter, and made his way to the back door.

By the time he had finished his third cigarette, he finally raised his wrist and checked his watch. It was ten past nine. He dropped the butt onto the asphalt, and grounded his heel into it. He turned and left for the parking lot.

As he watched the valet set off to retrieve his car, he swore under his breath at the thought of having to endure that fucking box talking to him the whole drive back.


	2. 02

02

When he finally awoke he was trapped in a twisted knot, sandwiched between his comforter and bed sheets, facing the wrong end of the bed. It was no secret that Yuki Eiri was a nationally acclaimed hermit, his comings and goings perpetually a mystery, forever to be known as 'the one who somehow always gets away' by the paparazzi. More mysterious even, was his character. There were many things about his person that very few people possessed knowledge of. Little things like the fact that he had an extreme fondness for the taste of cucumbers. He preferred Chaucer to Shakespeare, and his muse, though he would die before concurring, was Eric Clapton. His guilty pleasure TV show was Cooking with Emerald, and his favorite animal was the North American grizzly bear.

He was also a terrible bed hog. He would go through a great variety of position changes in one night, often resulting in him having to do battle with his sheets every morning in order to reach the nightstand to hit the snooze on his alarm.

He glanced at the time. The digital lights glowed a soft six thirty, and judging by the lack of light in his room it was most likely six PM not six AM. He had been passed out for a whopping 16 hours. Not an uncommon occurrence after three all-nighters. He stretched and caught himself just in time before almost tumbling off the edge of the bed.

He allowed himself an exceptionally long shower that evening, and when he exited the bathroom he noticed his cell phone blinking happily at him. There was a text message from a very familiar number.

Yadda yadda yadda sorry I missed you last night, yadda yadda had an emergency at the studio blah blah blah I was going to call you but blah blah I should be free tonight yadda here's my address blah blah yak yak blah.

He jotted the address down on the back of some receipt, and then simply stood there staring at his own curvy scrawl.

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

The relaxing after-shower calm disappeared instantaneous to be replaced by an intense nicotine fit. He put the receipt down, went to his door to get the paper, and lit up.

It suddenly dawned on him somewhere between his second cigarette and the sports column, that this wasn't avoidance. Not at all. This was the ye-old post break up dance. This was the 'let's see who moved on faster and got a newer, bigger, and better life that doesn't involve YOU' game.

He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved that the mentally challenged brat had finally tapped into his sadistic side, or if he should be insulted that the kid actually thought he could play games like this with THE master player of all time. He was so good he had credentials. Nobody ever plays games with Yuki Eiri.

Because nobody ever wins against Yuki Eiri.

He went back into his bedroom, and got dressed. After he finished, he snatched up the receipt and stared at it for another long minute before stuffing it into his coat pocket with a sense of finality. He took one final drag, and crushed the butt into his ashtray. He contemplated cologne, then settled on just a little dab around the collar. He grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage.

-------------------------

Half an hour later he found himself in a nice avenue somewhere uptown. An idyllic picturesque neighborhood where the grass was green, the trees were tall, and the parking was absolutely impossible. He ended up having to hike five minutes up a hill to reach his final destination. It was the most exercise he had done in the past five years.

…In the mean time, he was extremely glad he did not bring that damn box with him, or he would seriously be getting that cardiovascular workout his sister was always bitching to him about.

Not that he was planning on bringing it in the first place. No, he wouldn't go and end the game this early on. His next deadline wasn't for another month; he needed to waste his time somehow.

The address led him to the house right at the very top of the hill. It was very …white collar suburban. Leave it to Shuichi to pick a house that looked as if it was owned by a happily married couple with two point five kids and several house pets.

He rang the doorbell.

For a very, very brief second he had a hardcore flash back to third grade and got an urge to turn on the heels of his Kenneth Coles and sprint back down the hill. It was quickly followed by a short wave of nauseas disgust, as he rang the doorbell again.

Following the sounds of locks being detached, the door opened with a slow whiney cre_eeea_aak.

The man standing in the doorway was very tall, very lean, and most definitely NOT Shuichi.

He was perhaps a bit into his thirties, with dark unkempt hair, and even darker eyes. A pair of bulky recording headsets sat around his neck, and if his sweatpants hung any lower on his hips they would probably slide off entirely. There was stubble on his face and spaghetti sauce on his shirt. All the tell tale signs of an unemployed musician soon to experience his first mid-life crisis break down because he has mortgage debts up the wazoo.

The man was wearing Shuichi's dumb bunny-feet slippers.

…The dumb bunny-feet slippers that _he_ used to wear around the house when Shuichi was away on tour. Eiri adjusted his sunglasses.

"Come in," The man's tone of voice oozed with that distinctive artist type laid-back nonchalantness. He left the door wide open as he turned and shuffled back into the house, scratching his behind and pulling his pants up a bit in the process. "He should be home soon."

The inside of the house looked just as homey as it did on the outside. Everything had a comfortable feel to it. Comfortable furniture, comfortable rug, comfortable shelves, comfortable wallpaper… There were instruments and music sheets scattered all over the place, and smells of something cooking on the stove.

"What can I get you? Coffee? Tea? Beer?"

"Coffee," He took off his sunglasses and took a seat on the couch, making himself very at home, "No sugar."

The man stared at him then. Eiri stared back.

In those three seconds of eye contact, it seemed that everything that needed to be established between the two men had been confirmed.

"Tachibana Atsushi." The man said.

"Yuki Eiri." He replied.

"I know. I'll be back." And then he left to get the coffee Eiri had requested.

Just as Tachibana was re-entering the living room, a happy digitalized tune began to sing somewhere in the midst of sheet music. He set the coffee down in front of Eiri and dove into the pile of papers, emerging with his cell phone.

"Hey you. ….. Yah. …..Uh huh…...I made dinner. Really. All by myself. No, it wasn't a microave dinner...."

It was very slight, but Eiri detected the subtle change in his voice. It sounded warmer. Fuller. …. Tender.

"Well, what ever it is you should hurry it up.…. Why? …. Because your ex boyfriend is sitting here in your living room."

It caught him off guard in a way he never thought it would.

Ex boyfriend.

….Ex boyfriend.

What Eiri wanted to do, was to shoot Tachibana the look a cat owner gives when presented with a mauled rat. A cross between a grimace and a sneer.

What he did, was calmly picked up his teacup and took an even sip. Then he got up.

Tachibana lifted a brow, "Leaving?" his cell phone still in hand.

"I'm afraid so."

"He said he should be here in about fifteen."

"It was nice meeting you."

"You sure you don't want to wait?"

"Your meat sauce is burning." Eiri replied.

It was as if he had only noticed the burning stench after Eiri pointed it out. Tachibana's eyes shot open, then he took off to the kitchen muttering 'shit, shit!'

Eiri showed himself out.

-------------------------

Instead of returning home, he swerved a hard left at the next intersection and headed into town. He left a ritzy private jazz club that night with a vivacious brunette attached on his arm. He ignored the camera flashes coming from conveniently placed shrubbery and conspicuously parked cars.


	3. 03

03

"Two months after split with pop singer, Tokyo's most eligible bachelor is back on the prowl... Renowned novelist Yuki Eiri, previously romantically linked to Bad Luck vocalist Shindou Shuichi, seen carousing town with numerous female partners... Japan's favorite Casanova, available again. Be careful ladies, he writes poetry."

Tohma shifted in his seat, while Eiri opened his daily box of sugary delights complementary of all that is Seguchi.

"Those are the headlines of every single tabloid and entertainment news from here to Antarctica, Eiri-kun. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"…Please." He mumbled though mouthfuls of strawberry frosting, "Not another lecture on how my unhealthy neurosis are leading me down the path of an eventual slow and gruesome death."

"I'm just curious. Isn't avoiding the media your specialty?"

"Hnn," He replied non-commentally, and added more sugar to his tea.

A single wrinkle appeared on Tohma's baby-smooth forehead, "I know you have a sweet-tooth Eiri, but you really should watch…"

"What did I say about the lecturing?"

Tohma resorted to simply staring at him with that penetrable gaze designed to break even the strongest of steel wills. Eiri was ultimately glared into two teaspoons of sugar instead of the usual three.

"Well? I'm still waiting for an explanation. This is very unlike you."

"I know. I don't write poetry. I don't know what the shit they're talking about."

"…Eiri."

"Tohma."

"Eiri, avoiding the problem isn't going to change anything."

"So says you and my therapist and every other human on the goddamn planet who feels the need to tell me how to deal with my 'problems'."

Tohma sighed and brought a hand to his face, as if to gather his thoughts into his palm. "Listen to me Eiri. I have long since ceased to care about the strange and unconventional affairs that go on between you and Shindou-san. However, it would really be appreciated if you two could settle your business quickly and quietly. Quiet being the operative word. All this media drama is highly uncalled for. Not to mention unnecessary stress added to my daily routine. I'm already at high risk, please reframe from increasing my chances of having a stroke. I have a child now, it wouldn't be very responsible of me to up and die before age forty."

Eiri seemed set on not replying, rummaging through the box and retrieving a doughnut.

Tohma continued.

"Over the past half decade you two have broken up as many times as Sakano has broken down. We've all gotten use to it and gotten over it. You move out, he moves out, you run away to New York, he throws fits and threatens to set himself on fire …" He shook his head with dry exasperation, "…I simply fail to see how the situation is any different this time."

Tohma could tell by the hard set of Eiri's jaw and the sharp glint of aggravation in his eyes that he wasn't going to be getting an answer out of his brother in law any time soon. He took the hint and stood.

"I can only cover so much for you, Eiri. Take care of yourself."

Long after Tohma had left the room, his words clung to the walls, silently blatant and completely inexorable. Tohma's words tended to create that sort of effect.

_We've gotten use to it.  
__I fail to see how the situation is any different this time._

Suddenly, the pastel colored cakes lost their appeal. He stuffed the unfinished doughnut into his mouth and got up, dumping the entire box into the trash on the way to his office.

He was unable to produce a single coherent sentence that afternoon. It was four when he finally gave up and retreated from his office. There were close to twenty messages on his answering machine; half of them from people he didn't know, the other half from people he wished he had never met. After listening to the first five, he deleted them all with the conclusion that there was nobody worth spending his time and energy on that evening. He did a once-around his kitchen and the only thing he found was a bottle of wine. He grabbed it, and went into the living room to allow himself to be bored by late afternoon television.

Click. Click. Click. Click.  
Weather channel. Talk show. Soap opera. Home improvement.

Maybe it was time to do some grocery shopping.

Click. Click. Click.  
News report. Travel show. Baseball game.

He could afford a haircut. Or get a perm again. His curls had enjoyed great popularity.

Click. Click.  
Eighties Sitcom. Cheesy reality show.

He should probably take his car to the shop. He had been meaning to for weeks.

Click. Click.  
Game show. Stock reports.

…He could not believe he was sitting there thinking of ways to pass the time.

It wasn't long before it all became eerily familiar again. The white walls. The ticking of the clock. The long shadows in the hallway. The copious amounts of un-used space in his house.

Click.  
Music channel.

Bad Luck came booming at him through brand new 5.1 surround sound speakers. He raised the remote and aimed it defiantly at the projector. The boy on the screen smiled at him; taunting him.

Come on. I dare you.

I dare you to change the channel.

It was concert footage. A recent one. He remembered the stage. He remembered the song. He remembered that little leather outfit... and peeling it off sweat drenched shoulders.

It had snowed that night. A full two weeks before the weather channel predicted. He remembered Shuichi being ecstatic, because Shuichi tended to get excited over meaningless things. He remembered freezing his ass off for three hours and ruining a perfectly new and painfully expensive suede jacket. He remembered…

That voice. That smile.

The next second, the remote was back in his hand. And all of a sudden, he saw something he did not ever remember seeing. Hidden in between the collection of giant stadium amps and speakers, barely visible behind the shine of the spotlight and front man Nakano Hiroshi. The backup guitarist.

A man with dark hair. And even darker eyes.

And he watched as the song came to a finishing, as Shuichi thanked the crowd for braving the weather, hugged and thanked each one of his band members. The last scene of the video before it cut away to commercials was Tachibana patting Shuichi on the back, and planting a quick kiss on the top of his snowflake covered head.

Without missing a beat, he reached into his pocket, flipped open his cell phone, and dialed.

"Hello?"

_You bitch._

"…Hello?"

_You little lying bitch._

"Yuki, is that you?"

_Did you like him? Did you let him touch you? _

"Yuki, answer me."

_Did you let him kiss you? Let him …_

"You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"  
He managed to steer clear of a complete Freudian slip.

"…No, I've just been busy."

"Hm."

"Besides, you were at my house for like three seconds. I would have made it back, you know."

"I know."

"So then, isn't it really you who's the one doing the avoiding?"

"Who is he?"

"Huh?"

"The guy. At your place."

"Oh, he's our tour guitarist. He's been with us for a while."

"Really. Does he always come over to cook for you?"

"No. He's crashing with me, for now."

"……"

"He's in the process of moving, he just needs a place to stay while they move his stuff."

"So what is he, your fuck buddy?"

"Yuki!"

"Because, you know, I always figured Hiroshi would be your hook-up."

"…Yuki, you're drunk."

He didn't think he was, until he looked down and saw the empty bottle of chardonnay lying in his lap. When the hell did _that_ happen?

"Listen to me, go get yourself some water and lie down for a while, okay?"

"Don't you try to fucking blow me off."

"It's five in the afternoon and you're hammered. I think you need to take it easy instead of calling me up with your ridiculous accusations."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"No!"

"Do you like him?"

"Yuki, I think we should wait till you're sober to talk."

"I want to talk now. Do you like him?"

"Yuki, I…."

"Come on. Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me you found a replacement."

"It's not like that –"

"You can tell the truth. I know how the game goes. You found a replacement. You found a replacement so I could get a taste of my own medicine."

"Yuki, Stop it, you're not making any sense,"

He felt a sudden dizziness then, and his last conscious thought before passing out was: Shit, I didn't think chardonnay could get you this drunk. But then again, the only thing I've had to eat for the past two days were those damn doughnuts…


	4. 04

**_Warning: This story takes place five years after the end of the manga. This chapter (and possibly future ones) contains some obscure spoilers for the final volume._ **

04

Shuichi always accused him of forgetting things. It was true, he had a terrible memory. If he didn't have his organizer or mounds of post-its he would never show up to any of his appointments. There were exceptions, of course, like the things he intentionally put out of his mind. Things like dental checkups and his father's birthday. He used to tell Shuichi it was due to the extensive amount of weed he smoked back in the day. Shuichi didn't find the joke nearly as funny as he did.

All in all, his memory, like most other things in his life, was fickle and ironic and never seemed to function the way he needed it to. As the years went on and the flashbacks began to diverge in content and fluctuate in detail, he was caught in an endless parallax between the things he held dear and the things he would give anything to forget.

There were only two things he remembered with undeviating accuracy.  
Being raped, and the first time Shuichi left him.

The two were interlinked, of course. The rape caused him to lose Yuki. The loss of Yuki caused pain. The pain resulted in him turning Shuichi into a replacement. Turning Shuichi into a replacement caused Shuichi pain. The pain caused Shuichi to leave. And Shuichi leaving made him realize what he had been doing all along, and how it all linked back to the beginning.

He could never forget the way Shuichi looked at him that night. Just like he could never forget the feeling of unwanted hands on his body. Shuichi – his safe house, his refuge – the one person in the world who always accepted and never judged. The boy had looked at him with such utter disappointment and unreserved rage.

Shuichi had discarded him that night. Just like Yuki had discarded him all those nights ago. The two really were nothing alike. But in his mind, he had forged them into one being. The one source from which he could obtain all the warmth and comfort he had been denied of his whole life. He had gone through great lengths to retrieve Shuichi that time. Admitting his severe phobia of loneliness and letting those long held tears fall free was not an easy thing to do.

Brought together by all the wrong reasons, their entire relationship was one big struggle trying to actually _form_ a relationship. Yet during all the screaming and yelling and threatening and hurling of household objects, a link had been created. And it was virtually inseverable. Like the two protagonists of a Harlequin romance; no matter how many ridiculously unconquerable obstacles were thrown in their path, they always got their happy ending by the final chapter.

Five years. It had been five years since their first official break up. Nearly twenty more separations followed. And here they were again.

He had never envisioned a 'happy ending' for their story. In fact, he had never envisioned an 'ending' at all. He didn't think much of this particular separation until he looked at his calendar and realized they had been apart for much longer than they had ever been. Until he found himself calling, and having none of his calls returned. Until he went to his house and found another man living there. Until he was referred to as the 'ex-boyfriend'.

Until he was passed out drunk on his living room floor at five in the afternoon, with no one to help him up.

Maybe this was it.  
Maybe this was as good as it gets. As good as it'll ever get.

Completely intoxicated. And completely alone.

He knew what they had was too fucked up to last. Nothing that extraordinary ever does. And all the non-passion and anti-heat that fueled and fused them would eventually burn out, dry up, and rot away. He knew. He knew all along. He didn't need his family or his therapist or celebrity gossip column writers to tell him that 'Yuki Eiri and Shindou Shuichi were a match made in Satan's septic tank and were never meant to be.'

He always had a hard time being honest with others. It was because he was incapable of being honest with himself. He was an exceptional self-hypnotist. He could tell himself just about anything, and make himself believe in it.

He told himself that he had it all. Fame, fortune, the ability to get laid everyday for the rest of his life. He told himself that he didn't need his family's care and concern. Because he was nearly thirty, and thirty year old men could take care of themselves. He told himself that Kitazawa Yuki never meant to hurt him. It was the alcohol mixed in with an instable mind and a tortured soul.

He told himself that they were something remarkable. Something out of this world. Something that defied definition. Something raw and primeval and unapologetic. Something he could cling to when all logic and reason was stripped away. Something that was his to do as he saw fit. His to love, his to hate, his and his alone, and nothing, _nothing_ could take it away.

And all of it would be true. Except that none of it was.

He moved to get up. He was long past random bouts of self-pity. He just needed some food in his body. And water. And nicotine. And a shit load of aspirin. That was when he noticed that his coat had somehow accompanied him down to the floor, and was conveniently draped over him as a makeshift blanket. A couch cushion had also manifested itself behind his head.

He looked around, confused, just as Shuichi came out of the kitchen carrying a mug.

They locked eyes.  
And shared what was possibly the most awkward moment in their entire history of interaction.

Shuichi was the first to avert his gaze.

Despite the constant and numerous accusations of being aloof, Eiri had impeccably sharp perception skills. He was after all, a writer, and consequently a people watcher. Shuichi wasn't exactly what one would call 'hard to read'. And after five years, there was nothing the boy could hide if Eiri was actively searching for it. This was the first time Eiri had seen him in over two months. He saw embarrassment. And he saw unease.

Shuichi was wearing new clothes. He had a slightly different hair cut. And he looked more… just a little bit more…

"You've gained weight." Eiri stated, point blank.

"I did _not_!" Shuichi's still-puerile face scrunched up with immediate indignation, "Yuki no baka!"

"Still working on gaining in the maturity department, huh."

"Do you want me to pour this on you? It's really hot. It'll probably hurt."

Same Temper. Same pout.  
Shuichi was probably the only twenty five year old man on the planet who could pull off a pout.

"What are you doing here. How'd you get in."

"I use to live here too, remember. You didn't change the locks."

"Ah. I knew there was something important that I forgot to do."

Shuichi handed him the mug wordlessly. He took it, and emptied its contents with two gulps. It was too late when he realized what it was. He felt his facial features retreating inwards as he fought to keep his gag reflex under control. It was one of Shuichi's 'don't ask, just ingest' concoctions; surprisingly effective in curing headaches and hangovers, but sweet balls of Jesus did he hate the stuff. He could tell Shuichi was trying to hold in a giggle, and he wanted to tell him that this tough-boy act really wasn't becoming of him.

"You didn't answer me. What are you doing here."

"Making sure you didn't kill yourself."

He made a sour face. More like, he intensified the sour expression he already wore due to the liquefied crap he just drank.

"Words cannot express how insulted I am by the fact that you just insinuated that I am as incompetent as you are."

"Well, excuse _me_. But I assumed the loud crash I heard over the phone was the sound of your face colliding with the floor tiles. Which, by the way, was how I found you, Mr. Competent."

"Fuck you. I was inebriated."

"Yah, I think we've established that."

He rubbed a hand over his face. There was an obvious lump on his forehead. He swore again.

"Sit here, I'll get you some ice."

"Forget it, it's fine."

He reached a hand out, and caught Shuichi's wrist. The boy flinched the second their skin came into contact. Eiri's eyes narrowed, immediately seeking his face for an explanation for the unusual reaction. He saw shame. He saw guilt. And when Shuichi refused to look at him, he saw Shuichi's secret.

_  
_"...You did sleep with him."

_  
_Shuichi bit his lip.  
And that was all he needed to say. Eiri let go of his wrist.

"While we were still together?"

"No. After we broke up. I was upset. And…he was kind to me."

"Just once?"

Shuichi bit his lip again, and Eiri decided he should stop asking questions.

"I'm sorry, Yuki."

"No you're not."

"I'm sorry for not telling you. I just… I haven't really figured things out myself." Shuichi took one deep breath after another, as if he was trying to physically push the air into his lungs. "…I think I have feelings for him."

Eiri broke eye contact, then.  
He stared down at the floor, while Shuichi stared up at the ceiling.

After a silence that lasted much longer than anticipated, Shuichi spoke up abruptly. "I need to get going, Yuki. Give me some time to think things over. I'll give you an answer, I promise."

"Take your time. Though I doubt your 'thinking' will be impartial, considering you live with the fucker."

"…I need to go."

"Told him you'd be back for dinner, didn't you."

The aggravation was starting to show on Shuichi's face, and in his voice. "As a matter of fact, yes. We're officially broken up, Yuki. You can't make me feel guilty for the way I feel."

"I think you're doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Good night, Yuki." Was all he said, and then he was gone.

Ten minutes later, Eiri was still sitting on the floor, replaying everything that had just happened. Evidently the boy still felt for him. So he was expected to simply sit on his ass in his empty apartment and wait for his confused ex-lover to get back to him on whether or not their separation was permanent? No, no, the game was in a whole other playing field now. He considered himself a fairly civilized man with reasonable limitations. Except when it came to Shuichi. Everything was an exception when it came to Shuichi. Especially when another man so blatantly put forth the challenge. The alpha male in him refused to let him sit this one out. And the possessive, selfish, completely obsessed part of him refused to let things end like this. He had told himself once that if the day came when Shuichi found true happiness else where, that he would do the right thing and set him free.

He decided he was going to have to make an exception.

He got up, finally, and as he headed towards the shower, he found himself in much better spirits. In fact, he was feeling the best he had since the split. Perhaps it was the satisfaction of knowing that he now had a direction and an objective.

But it was probably just because he couldn't wait to kick the living shit out of Tachibana Atsushi.


	5. 05

05

Anyone who has ever had the great fortune of spending time with Shindou Shuichi knew that bawling his eyeballs out was, in fact, his favorite pastime. He was twenty-five years old and he cried no less than when he was five. In a sense he needed the routine catharsis to keep himself sane and sedated. But more importantly, it saved him a lot of money on drugs and therapy. He cried plenty, and he cried often, and he had been repeating "I am_ NOT_ going to cry" in a crazed mental loop the instant he saw Yuki's name displayed on caller ID, all the way through the uncomfortable phone call, the entire drive back to the unpleasantly familiar yuppie district, unlocking and stepping through Yuki's door, up until the second he made it out. He got a quarter of the way off the driveway before he finally gave in. He pulled over when the tears completely obscured his view, and the shaking became so violent he could no longer control the steering wheel.

He sat in his car, by the side of the road, and cried.

He cried plenty, and he cried often. This was the first time in his life he was truly ashamed of his tears. Because he fucked up so badly, but it felt so damn good. Because the thought of Yuki being out of his life forever was more frightening than death. Because he had no right to cry, but he did anyways. For half an hour. When he was done, he got out the wet naps from the glove compartment, wiped his face clean, and drove home. Over the years he had become extremely proficient at gathering pieces of himself off the floor and forcing them back together with increasingly faker smiles.

He loved his house. He missed living under his father's roof and he missed sharing a home with Yuki, but there was something so dignifying about owning your own place. It was like owning your first car except bigger, badder, and sans the two hundred hours worth of overtime at McDonalds in order to afford gas. He was a millionaire many times over, but when he finally had things his way all he wanted to do was to purchase a cozy little shack outside of the city and stock it full with thrift store furniture. Which was exactly what he did. His room was a mess, his kitchen was destroyed, and his walls were a photomontage of polaroids and posters and magazine rip-outs of all the things about himself he never bothered telling anyone. The halls always smelled like fresh towels and cookies, and there was always music playing, all the time, during the early mornings and into the late, late night. Obnoxiously loud and offensive, the kind that had the neighbors complaining every other day. He freaking _loved_ his house.

Living with Yuki was like living with a ninety year old woman. Twelve and a half million house rules, most of which involved coasters and crumbs on the carpet. He was an anal retentive bleachoholic who couldn't tolerate disorganization, and couldn't concentrate unless there was total and absolute silence. Failure to abide by the rules resulted in no food, no play, no bed to sleep in, and the patented silent treatment of death. Shuichi had tried, countless times, to turn their house into a home. But considering Yuki hated fragrances, superfluous décor, Pottery Barn and any store of the sort, absolutely refused to have his walls covered by anything other than blinding white, and was apparently allergic to every kind of domestic animal... all of Shuichi's house warming attempts were met with "turn that shit off, take that shit down, and throw that shit out."

Every place Yuki has ever inhabited looked and felt the same. Barren and sterile mixed in with the smell of unfiltered cigarettes, cheap liquor, and sex. Shuichi imagined that to be exactly what a high-class brothel was like. The ultimate bachelor pad for the ultimate bachelor. Except Yuki wasn't a bachelor so Shuichi did not understand why he wasn't allowed to paint the stupid walls or plug in an air freshener so his hair would stop smelling like ash.

Compromises must be made to sustain the unsustainable.

Well. Now that Yuki has regained singledom he doesn't need to worry about coming home to discover half the house plastered with Mighty Mouse wallpaper anymore.

There were many things in the world Shuichi had trouble understanding. Politics. Modern art. How to open childproof medicine caps. He didn't understand why after half a decade of compromising they were still falling apart. Why he was still battling the same phantom he thought had been put into the ground years ago. Why after giving everything he had to give, Yuki still wasn't healing, wasn't smiling.

No. He knew exactly why Yuki wasn't getting better.  
He was addicted. Hopelessly addicted. To pain, to misery, to the mirage of a man called Kitazawa Yuki.

It wasn't a matter of competition. Shuichi was never one to be deterred by competition, and the thought of competing with a dead guy was beneath him. However after years of breaking up over the same damn thing he was determined to exorcize Yuki's demons once and for all. It wasn't competition, it was intervention.

He went on the internet and found out everything he could about Kitazawa Yuki. Where he was born, what middle school he went to, what sports he played in high school. He justified it by telling himself that the more he knew the better off he was to help Yuki conquer his sickness. If this man was somehow destroying their relationship from beyond the grave, then he had the right to know exactly what he was up against.

Yuki never knew of course. Never knew that towards the end of their fourth year Shuichi actually had a secret folder on his computer that contained nothing but old yearbook photos of Kitazawa Yuki. Sometimes he would stare at a picture for hours, trying to figure out exactly what it was that was so captivating, so powerfully arresting about the man. What it was he had that he himself lacked. What was it about him that made Yuki love so much, to the point where he seemed more content to be tortured by past memories than enjoying present happiness.

Then he would get upset for violating something that was meant for Yuki alone, and swore that he would delete all those pictures. He never did.

And then Shuichi met him.

Tachibana Atsushi was, in all honesty, a very simple man. He did not possess Yuki's devastating looks and chiseled body, nor did he share Yuki's ability to be irresistibly charming. He wasn't ostentatious, he wasn't eccentric, he never won any awards nor achieved tremendous success. His face was easily lost in a crowd of hundreds.

But he had the most intoxicating pair of eyes Shuichi had ever seen. Dark. Rich. Dangerous. Secretive. Inviting. They were absolutely unreadable. It was like he could be saying anything and everything to you all at the same time. It was intimidating and it was mesmerizing. Shuichi had looked into those eyes and he simply could not look away. Temptation was not a hard thing to resist when you're with the most beautiful man on the planet, and he would never leave Yuki for superficial reasons like physical attraction, but suddenly, just like that, everything made sense and he realized.

Those eyes. Those eyes that held the world and spoke the language of the intangible. Those eyes that could turn an unremarkable man into something undeniably beautiful. Those were the same eyes that belonged to Kitazawa Yuki.

I adore you.  
I despise you.  
I'll treasure you.  
I'll damage you.  
I'll protect you.  
I'll betray you.

Once you've been looked at by those eyes, you would never be able to forget them. It made him realize that he wasn't battling against a man. Or even the memory of a ghost. He was competing against a manifestation of pure emotion, of desperate desire to attain the unattainable, to retrieve what was lost forever, to be wanted by the one person that did not want you back. And he realized he had lost. He had lost long before it all begun. He didn't mean to give up on Yuki. He really didn't. He just didn't have the will to continue fighting an already lost battle. You can't help someone who doesn't want to help themself.

When he got home, he found Atsushi sitting at the dinner table, smoking. Waiting for him. And he felt horrible. It was rude of him to take off like that. He didn't exactly know how Atsushi felt about Yuki, but he knew exactly how it felt to be put in second place.

Yuki lived off full flavored Marlboro reds. Everything about him reeked of the same harsh toxic bitterness identical to that of his drug of choice. Atsushi smoked Indonesian Djarum cloves. Spicy and sweet and exotic… It was the only kind of cigarette that actually smelled good to Shuichi.

"Thank you for making dinner."

"Attempted. The meat loaf's kind of burnt."

Shuichi stared down at the hunk of blackness sitting in the casserole dish.

"... Uh, very burnt."

"Atsushi..."

"Yes?"

"Hold me."

He put out his cigarette, stood, and rounded the table to where Shuichi stood. And then he held him. Shuichi closed his eyes and inhaled his distinctive scent and comforting presence and everything about him that was everything Yuki wasn't. He felt Atsushi cradling the back of his head and he buried his face deep into the other man's chest.

"It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Shuichi sniffed once.

"Atsushi..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He looked up, and saw Atsushi smiling down at him. And in that moment he truly believed that everything was going to be okay. He smiled back. "... Let's order some goddamn pizza."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd like to take a moment to thank those who've spared time for me. I'm completely inept at keeping up with updates, and even worse at finishing what I've started. I've recently been hired for a job as a comic artist, so that doesn't help with my problem. To my patient readers, old and new: Thank you for your kind words and support. You all make for some great motivation.

And for all the Gravitation fans: Rejoice! Murakami has continued on with part 2 of theManga like we all prayed she would. However now that I know what happens it's kind of hard to proceed with my own version of events when some crazy shit like this is introduced to the plot...

**_WARNING_**

**_WARNING_**

**_HUGE ASS MOTHERFUGGIN SPOILER AHEAD_**

**_WARNING_**

**_WARNING_**

Kitazawa Yuki has a kid.omgwtf. The only thing I could think was holy shit Eiri got pregnant with their love child (…humanly impossible but perfectly logical…) Looks like fandom's favorite theme of 'Yuki and Shuichi raise a kid together' is about to become canon. Except it's Kitazawa's kid, and that's kind of fucked up. The kid even called Shuichi 'mama'. That's so fucked up…

Murakami is a genius.


	6. 06

06

Thursdays, mandatory shabu-shabu night. Ever since that fateful Thursday sophomore year when they both got totally shit faced and decided to break into Sakura's Shabu-Shabu House to steal all the hot pots. Which didn't turn out to be quite as hilarious as they thought it would be.

Meat sizzled, beer flowed, and all of a sudden they were back in his old bedroom just hanging out having a blast, skipping class to finish yet another future platinum hit for the next student council talent show. Sometimes Shuichi wished the simpler times never went away. Sometimes the thought of being a twenty five year old high school drop out who works the local quickie mart register doesn't seem so bad.

He always knew he was destined to be a diva. What he didn't know was how inadequate he was at handling all the stress. Some days he wished he could fall asleep and wake up in a magical land paved with yellow bricks where sugar plum fairies roam and leprechauns frolic and ...stuff.

Truth was, he just wasn't ready to grow up. Twenty goddamn five and still not ready to 'grow up'. He stuffed a little too much meat into his mouth, and then tried to force it down his throat with a little too much beer.

"Woah, woah there. Chill out. I don't know no Heimlich maneuver or nothing, so, you know, don't die."

Shuichi coughed up beer, and Hiro cracked up.

"Can't even help a choking guy? And you were going to be doctor. Bitch."

"Hey at least I had the grades, rain man."

"Anal bead."

"Breast implant."

"Strap on dildo."

"……We are _so_ wasted. K is going to kill us tomorrow."

"Yah... I didn't mean to have those last... five beers."

They smiled at each other over the tops of their beer cans. Shuichi was glad their perfectly crude understanding of each other saw him through. True friendship, like everything else that was potentially true, was hard to come by and hard to last.

"So what's up with you and what's her monkey face?"

"Her name's Ayaka, cock sucker."

Shuichi winked and this time Hiro coughed up beer.

"Man. I dunno. She called me the other day. Still wants to get back together. But... I dunno."

"Why not? You've been together for so long. And through so much."

"I just don't want to end up like those couples that breaks up gets back together, breaks up gets back together, it's so stupid and pointless... oh, wait, I'm sorry man, you know what I mean."

Shuichi sighed. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You and Yuki are different."

"No we're not."

"Of course you are! Everyone knows Yuki Eiri is not of the human race. You're dealing with some kind of extra terrestrial alien species here."

"I'm caught in a bad relationship with a bad man. That's all it is. Nothing alien, nothing different, nothing fucking special about it."

The room was silent for a while, save for the soft hiss of cooking meat.

"So... You're not going to go back to him?"

The million dollar question. Shuichi stared into his beer canlike he had notes written in it. "I just don't want to be angry anymore. At Yuki, at Kitazawa, at myself... I don't want to be angry anymore, Hiro."

He could hear the disembodied voice in his head demand _is that your final answer?_

"Is being happy really too much to ask?"

Hiro smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you've already got fame and fortune..."

"If you think I'm being selfish, Hiro, just come out and say it."

"Naw, I wouldn't say you're selfish. More like a huge faggoty attention whore."

Shuichi laughed then, and they both decided that since K was already going to murder them for coming to work hung over, they might as well have a couple more beers and go to work still drunk.

-------------------------

Sometimes he wondered if he was really gay.

He wasn't suave, or funny, or had an unlimited supply of witty banter for every situation. He knew nothing about fine dining or designer shoes or how to style hair. He was always on the celebrity worst dressed list, and he would find himself staring at the swaying hips of women as they pass him by, wondering if pussy really was as incredible as they say it was. And when he felt really self loathing he sometimes agreed with the Christian family groups that tell him he needs to burn in eternal hell fire for corrupting the youth with his homosexual music.

He never fit into any molds or roles or labels, but sometimes, _sometimes_, he really wished that he did. Especially at times like this, when he could finally put all the bullshit aside and really, honestly look at himself, to find that he had no idea who or what he was looking at.

Gay, straight, bi...

He was Shindou Shuichi, musician, and that was all he had ever needed to know. Everything else about him was unimportant. He supposed he was just too busy fiddling with his cheap keyboard and bootlegged recording programs to realize it. He supposed that's why he wound up so hopelessly caught in Yuki. He supposed that Yuki eventually became his identity. He supposed that's why whenever he wasn't with Yuki... he felt like a nobody.

Hell, even when he was with Yuki the man still had that special way of making him feel like a waste.

He wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and stared at his reflection. His reflection stared back. The next second he was gripped by an inexplicable rage that told him to smash his fist into that mirror and shatter everything he saw in it.

One minute things were fine, the next minute they weren't.  
One minute he was eighteen, the next minute he was old.  
One minute he was in love, the next...

When did everything get so complicated? When did his youth and his passion pass him by? ...When did he turn into such a pitiful disappointment? Through his own eyes, he could see his younger self laughing at him, and his fingers tightened and balled.

There was only one thing he knew for certain. Shindou Shuichi was not a nobody.

He was not a nobody.  
He was not a nobody!  
_He was not a nobody!_

"Shuichi... Shuichi!"

And then he was being pulled back, away from the crushed mirror and the falling glass. Atsushi held him until he stopped struggling and his bloodied fist finally abandoned its target and fell limp against his side. Shuichi's haggard breathing and the sound of the mirror crumbling and hitting the porcelain tiles echoed through the entire house.

Atsushi slowly turned the smaller man around, and lifted his cut hand. He reached behind to pull a towel off the rack, and carefully wiped away all the red.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I... don't usually do things like this."

"I know."

He bent down and opened the cabinet under the sink. First aid kit in hand, he scooped Shuichi up, crossed the shard littered floor, and sat them both down inside the bathtub. Shuichi lay obediently between his legs, back against his chest, and allowed Atsushi to apply the antiseptic.

"You might want to get that checked out tomorrow. I'm no doctor."

Next came the gauze. His eyes followed the bandage as Atsushi slowly wrapped it around and around his hand. Once... Twice... Three times...

"Who am I? What do you see when you look at me? Do you see me as a complete person? Am I always going to be dependant on somebody else?"

He could feel Atsushi smiling into his hair. Four times... "Answer in that order?"

"Don't tease. I'm being serious."

Atsushi was silent for a while. Five times...

"You are true beauty in a world of ugliness." Six times... "When I look at you, I see untainted purity. You are complete because you possess what most people lack." Seven times... "Unstoppable love. When you love, nothing can get in your way. When you love... you can make the whole world stand still for you." Eight times... "Yours is the kind of love that can transform people. Change hearts. Move mountains."

Shuichi laughed involuntarily, "Well now you're just exaggerating."

"When I first met you, I use to wonder what it would be like to love that much. Love to the point where nothing else mattered, not even yourself." Nine times... "And then I wondered what it would be like to be the one to receive that love." Ten times. "Then I just... couldn't help myself."

Atsushi tied off the bandage, and turned him around so that they were face to face.

"Sometimes, when you look at me, Shuichi……You rob me of my soul."

His sincerity made Shuichi's face burn and his heart pound. Even worse, it made him feel unbelievably guilty. He looked down, and couldn't bring himself to meet Atsushi's eyes again. A few silent seconds later, Atsushi moved to get out of the tub. Shuichi looked up with sense of panic, and saw Atsushi smiling that calm smile and offering his hand.

He took it, and Atsushi pulled him up against him.

"You are not a nobody, Shuichi. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise."

-------------------------

"Hey! Fancy seeing you here! How you doing, kid?"

Shuichi set the treadmill to the highest fat-burning setting allowed and wondered why it was that he always ran into Tatsuha at the most random and awkward of places.

"Doing great. And I'm older than you, punk."

Hanging out with Tatsuha was like listening to eighties rock. Good in small doses. Too much of him and you'll end up either wanting to kill him or kill yourself.

"Glad to hear. You know, what with the high profile break up and all. What happened to your hand?"

"Accident."

"Oh."

"Yah."

"What are you doing at the gym, anyways? Gained some weight?"

"... I did _not_ gain weight."

"Oh."

"Yah."

"……"

"……"

"The bro's not doing so hot, last I checked."

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"Oh come on, like you aren't curious?"

Shuichi rolled his eyes. "I'm sure his condition isn't so critical as to need you to speak on his behalf."

Tatsuha put on his best offended look, "I resent that. I happen to be on excellent terms with my brother."

"Yeah. Right. You're best buds."

"Last time I was at his house there was nothing to eat!"

"Yuki doesn't do the groceries when he's by himself."

"And, and the clothes he was wearing smelled like it was at least a week old!"

"He doesn't do the laundry, either."

"And he has all your clothes and underwear and stuff in this big box in his bedroom, god only knows what he does with it."

"Are we done here? ...Wait. What?"

Tatsuha smiled the trademark Uesugi smirk of deviance. "You should invite him to your party."

"My _huh?_"

"Party. You know, the one Tohma's throwing you."

"Tohma's throwing me a _what?_"

"The anniversary party. Next week will be five years since Bad Luck first debuted. I got my invitation in the mail yesterday. Wait a minute. You don't know about it? Shit, it's not supposed to be a surprise party is it? Shit! _Shit!_ Um, don't tell anyone I told you anything. And when they yell 'surprise', you know, act surprised."

When he got home from the gym, he found the invitation to his party sitting on the dinner table. And he knew. He just knew. The day Seguchi Tohma throws him a party means that something bad is definitely, _definitely_ going to happen.


	7. 07

07

Five years really isn't that long. It's not short, but in the grand scheme of things... it's really not that long. Sixty months. One thousand eight hundred and twenty six days. Just about enough time for a dynamic high school duo to become a chart topping, stadium performing, three-man techno army.

He wanted to believe that it was the perfect combination of talent and willpower that drove them to the top. But the truth was that it was all just luck. Sheer luck. Luck, and Seguchi Tohma. The scariest son of a bitch to ever smile warmly across a board meeting table before firing the crap out of you and making sure you would never again find a job east of the International Date Line. In any field. Ever.

You can't buy that kind of power. You also can't be ungrateful when you've got that kind of power on your side, pushing you up the charts.

Shuichi was never scared of Tohma. Not in the way everybody else was. Sure, there had been a number of times that demonically angelic smile had made him want to shit his pants, but The Seguchi had never been able to strike true fear in him. When it came down to the things that mattered, he always threw his shoulders back and stuck his nose right into Tohma's obviously-moisturized-on-a-daily-basis mug. After all, Nittle Grasper had been his altar of worship since the second grade, and thus he had always been under the classic fanatic delusion that he had somehow known Tohma all his life.

Most people just figured Shuichi was a hot head who never considered consequences. They would be right, for the most part. He never fully considered the consequences of volunteering himself for the position as the super annoying thorn in Tohma's side. It was mostly because on some subconscious level, he always wanted Tohma to cut him off. He wanted to know that he deserved everything he got, that it hadn't just been handed to him, the golden ticket and the whole damn chocolate factory. He wanted proof; proof that he didn't need Tohma, that he never needed Tohma.

But he supposed the only way to find that out would be to build a time traveling car like in that movie and drive back to that night five years ago, when he chased down (and fell at the feet of) his maker, blabbering nonsensically and presenting him with a demo tape in shaky hands.

He mashed a spoon into the bowl of frosty flakes in front of him on the counter, and eyed the party invitation magnated to the refrigerator door.

The whole thing felt a bit like a joke to him. Tohma throwing him a party. As if he had achieved all of this on his own. It was just another way for Tohma to put him in his place - several inches below the heel of Tohma's designer boots. It wasn't that he hated Tohma, either. He couldn't. Tohma earned everything he had. And that was exactly why. Tohma _earned_ it. His wealth, his success, his entire freakin' empire. He even managed to earn Yuki's unconditional trust. Something Shuichi was never certain he had.

What had he earned?

Tohma gave him his musical spotlight. His scandalous relationship gave him his fans. Even his relationship on some twisted level should be accredited to Kitazawa Yuki.

What exactly, has he earned?

It would be funny if he didn't show up to his own 'success party'. Or showed up drunk, or something. Nah. There'd be drinks. He could get drunk there. He shoveled in another spoonful of cereal and tried to concentrate on the newspaper trivia questions, ignoring the dawning awareness of his increasingly frequent desire to drink.

"Vientiane."

"Huh?"

"The capital of Laos." Atsushi pointed over Shuichi's shoulder to the question he was currently making little doodles around. "It's Vientiane."

"Oh come on!" Shuichi threw his hands up in defeat. "That's not fair! Yuki always use to do that, look over my shoulder and -" He stopped himself.

Atsushi sipped his coffee. His eyes said nothing. It sort of bothered Shuichi that he could never tell what the man was thinking. Yuki's ice princess act had been so glaringly transparent. He never realized how difficult it was to deal with a real stoic.

"If I don't help you, you'd be here for hours." He waved a dismissive hand, turning and heading over to the coffee maker.

"Not true," Shuichi defended, "I would have looked the answers up on the internet."

"Ah. That's called cheating."

"No it's not! It's called _being resourceful_."

Atsushi shrugged, "Alright, cheater." And refilled his mug.

Shuichi blew raspberries at his back, spraying little bits of cereal. His eyes landed on the invitation again. Tatsuha's voice sounded in the back of his head.

No. No way.

He shook his head and looked back down at the newspaper. Question four. Concentrate. A member of the macropod family with a smaller, stockier build than that of a kangaroo. Okay. Right. ...Right. What the hell was a macropod?

"Wallaby. Question four is wallaby."

"Atsushi! Stop it!"

-------------------------

So rarely did he get days off that when he did, he never knew what to do with himself. He usually ended up squandering the day away trying to think up things to do.

On this workless afternoon, Shuichi sat, slightly slumped, staring idly out the window of a nameless coffee house. His chocolate latte untouched, his fingers fiddled his cell phone with an obsessive compulsive agitation. After twirling it around in his hands for the billionth time, he flipped open the receiver. Then panicked, and quickly closed it. Then flipped it open again. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

... No. No way.

He sat up straight and snapped his cell phone shut, shoving it forcefully into his pocket, and swirled the whipped cream into his now luke-warm drink. The phone was back in his hand a second later.

This was ridiculous. Why was he even considering it?

They weren't exactly on speaking terms. The last time they saw each other was... more awkward than being trapped in a room alone with Fujisaki. Yuki hated parties. Yuki probably hated him. It would be the hate fest to end all hate fests. And it would definitely give Yuki the ulcer to end all ulcers.

Why _was_ he even considering it?

Shuichi turned to check out the window. He wasn't sure what was more inappropriate; thinking of calling Yuki, or thinking of calling Yuki while on a coffee date with another man. Atsushi came into the store then; slacks, unbuttoned shirt, hat pulled low. He zigzagged his way through the tables and sat down with an exalted sigh.

"Sorry I'm late. Did you wait long?"

He shook his head curtly, and slipped the phone back into his pocket as discreetly as he could. "How'd the apartment hunting go?"

"Terrible. I could sooner pull monkeys out my butt than find a rent controlled apartment in this goddamn city."

"You know, you could always just stay with me."

Atsushi gave him a smile he couldn't decipher, and raised a hand to call the waitress over. The instant she was done taking the order and wandered out of hearing range Shuichi opened his mouth, not giving his brain a chance to stop himself.

"Would you be upset if Yuki came to the party this Saturday?"

His bluntness seemed to have finally caught Atsushi off guard a bit. Just a little bit. The older man blinked a few times. Then slowly leaned back into his chair. "I'd be lying if I said no... " he slipped off his hat and tapped the brim against the table, "But then, I'd be the lesser man, wouldn't I?"

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," He sounded unpersuasive even to himself. "I just... I just -"

"It's alright." He reached out a hand and pulled Shuichi's drink towards him, stealing a sip, "I don't need an explanation."

Shuichi looked up. "Really? Because I can explain. I can!"

"You're grateful for the fact that he brought out the maximum drive in you, you feel that he deserves to be there because you wouldn't have gotten where you are without him, and you can't just cut people out of your life like they were never there."

"I..." And there it was. Everything that's been keeping him up at night, laid out on the table with the napkins and the silverware. There was nothing left for him to say. "I'm sorry."

"You know, you really should stop apologizing all the time."

"I can't help it. This. This right here," He pointed back and forth in the space between them. "This is not fair to you."

"The only person you need to focus on treating fairly, is yourself." His voice was low and soft, but Shuichi was far from being reassured.

"That's a really selfish way to live, don't you think?" He frowned.

Atsushi considered his response. Then looked Shuichi in the eyes with solemn intensity and stated, "... It saves you a lot of pain in the end."

His drink came then, and that was that. They spoke of the weather, of music, and of coffee houses. Of the big things, the little things, the people they know, the movies they've seen, and of bitchy real estate agents and the utter lack of affordable housing in Tokyo.

-------------------------

It took two beers, half a bag of oreos and a red bull before he was able to summon the resolve to lock himself into the bathroom and make the call. And even then he was counting on a ninety five percent chance that Yuki wouldn't pick up. He blew out a breath of relief when the number of ring tones reached the very last one before the voice mail. He was just about ready to leave a very rehearsed message when the line clicked.

"Hello."

And his brain froze.

"Hello?"

Damnit.

"Shuichi."

_Damnit._

"Hi! Sorry I, uh, wasn't expecting you to pick up." The minute that ridiculous opening line came out his mouth he knew this conversation was going to end with him looking like a complete asshat.

"Considering you never once answered my calls, I probably shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry. I... wasn't ready to talk to you."

"Am I suppose to assume you're ready now?"

"Well. You see, there's this..." Through the phone speakers, he could hear the muffled sounds of men talking and women laughing. "Is that-? Are you-? Are you at a party?"

"Yes." There was a loud clinking of glasses followed by a boisterous 'cheers!'

"Oh."

He knew Tatsuha was lying. Yuki was doing fine. He read the news. He saw the pictures. Yuki was doing just fine.

"What do you want?"

Apathy. Indifference. I don't really give a shit what you want I just want you to shut the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone. Shuichi wanted to hang up right then and there. But he bit his lip.

"There's this ...thing. On Saturday. And I would -"

"I know." He interrupted briskly. "Tohma told me about it."

" ...Oh." Tohma was either trying to get them back together, or split them up for good. He had a feeling it was the latter.

"Didn't think you'd want me to go."

" ...Well. I do."

"Alright. I'll be there." And he hung up.

Shuichi screwed his eyes shut and leaned back. His head made a dull thump as it hit the wall behind him. He didn't realize it until recently, that just like the bathroom mirror he never got around to repairing, his life had cracked and eventually crashed full speed into the tiles. It was his mess, he knew it, he simply waited too long to start cleaning it up. And now, no matter how hard he looked, he was never going to find all those little pieces that were impossible to see and stuck painfully into the bottom of his feet every time he took a shower.

-------------------------

He didn't think for a second that the party was going to be that big an ordeal, but Saturday evening twenty minutes before the limo was due to arrive, he found himself buried in shirts and shoes and ties on the verge of a mental breakdown. There was only one person to go to. He pressed the speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Help me Hiro, help me!"

" ...Shuichi? What's wrong?"

"I've spent almost two hours in my closet. I've gone through every single piece of clothing I own and I'm _still_ in my boxers. Does brown go good with blue? No wait, how bout' gold and purple?"

"Alright, calm down. Just breathe."

"I don't need to calm down I need you to help me!"

There was a brief silence before Hiro figured out what the real problem was.

"Yuki's going to be there, isn't he."

" ...Yes."

"You invited him?"

"Not exactly."

"Hey hold on a minute, there's somebody on the other line."

"Don't you dare put me on hold Nakano Hiroshi!"

"Yah, yah... "

There was a beep and then a third voice entered the conversation.

"Hey, Nakano-san. I just wanted to know what you guys were wearing tonight. So we don't look, you know, stupid. Like we did at our last press conference. That was way unfortunate."

"We were suppose to _coordinate_? Nobody told me! How come I didn't know about this! When was this decided?"

"Stop panicking, Shuichi."

"Shindou-san? Is that you?"

"Be honest with me, Fujisaki... Does brown go good with blue?"

"I don't know, ask Nakano-san."

"Woah waoh woah, since when did I become the style guru? Why are you guys calling me like five minutes before the party asking me what to wear?"

"Because, Nakano-san, you always somehow end up looking the best. And that shouldn't happen. You have enough fangirls. I need some."

"Yah Hiro, you are totally the hottest."

"Okay, you know what, this is getting weird. I can only deal with you guys one at a time. This three way thing is confusing me."

"Tee hee, you said three way."

" ...Good bye Shuichi. Enjoy your meltdown."

"NO, DON'T HANG UP! I'm sorry, just tell me what to wear, please! Anyone!"

"Yuki-san's going to be there tonight, isn't he."

"Yup. I told you I had a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"Of course. Since when does Seguchi Tohma do nice things for _no reason_? Especially for us."

"Hello, still having a fashion crisis here guys."

"Just go classic. Black and white."

"Too boring."

"What about that nice pinstripe suit you have?"

"Too tacky."

"Blue's always a safe way to go."

"Too predictable."

"Well _fine_ then! If you're not gonna take our advice then just work it out yourself! Right, Nakano-san?"

"Actually... I have a confession to make. I haven't decided what to wear, either."

"What?"

"WHAT?"

"Yah. I invited Ayaka. And... well. You know."

"Hiro, you can't do this to me! You're my incase-of-emergency person! You can't have an emergency while I'm having an emergency!"

" ...God. We are going to be so late."


	8. 08

08

With eminent grace the three members of Bad Luck entered through the swinging doors of the NG ballroom at exactly eight thirty pm, apparel choices marginally convincing in style, and half an hour late.

It wasn't a red carpet event, but it was still a Seguchi Tohma event. And when Seguchi Tohma threw a party, he made sure it was the best goddamn party he could afford. After all, Tohma had a penchant for the grandeur, and there was nothing he loved more than out doing himself. Shuichi had thought the preparations he saw that afternoon during the sound check were already over the top. He hadn't seen the ice sculptures, the chocolate fondue fountains, the massive paper lanterns, or the thirty-foot ceiling to floor drapery. And with close to four hundred and fifty guests, the lighting, the ambiance, everything was well above the hoo-ha curve of the usual theatrics that was your average NG media-feeding extravaganza.

Shuichi wasn't the only one blown away by all the gratuitous expenses being lavished in their name. Hiro spent a good fifteen minutes commenting on the buffet selection and how he wasn't sure whether he should be putting the food in his mouth or framing it up on the wall, while Suguru went on and on about how he didn't want to take apart the swan napkins because they were so well crafted and looked so perfect with the plating and how in the world was Tohma able to assemble all those exotic flowers in the centerpiece at this time of the year.

Slow music and sweet wine under soft candle light. The atmosphere felt just a tad bit more romantic than it should for a Bad Luck party. Still, it didn't mean he was any less impressed. Or appreciative. Or really, really suspicious of any ulterior motives that might be lurking beneath Tohma's welcoming smile. The man didn't even get mad at them for showing up late. That made things triple-y suspicious.

Tohma, like the ultimate super power record label president that he was, paraded the three around the floor and personally introduced them to all the important guests, figuring that team meathead probably lacked the tact and social awareness to do it themselves. As they made their way through the bowing heads and shaking hands, Shuichi compulsively shifted his gaze from one side of the room to the other. Hiro caught him, and sent a swift elbow into his side along with a glare that said 'pay attention or you are going to get us so fired'. Shuichi coughed and tried to play it off like he hadn't just completely spaced out through the entire conversation they were having with some hot shot producers. When the mandatory greeting session was over, Hiro pulled him aside.

"Get it together, Shuichi. Stop doing that shifty rolly thing with your eyeballs, it's making me nervous. You think you're not being obvious, but you are."

"It's not my fault I can't look at Sergeant Permanent Press without cringing! The guy's had eight facelifts too many. What's wrong with people in this industry…"

"Quit playing dumb."

"Like you haven't been looking around for Ayaka." He accused defensively.

"I already met her. And greeted her properly, like mature adults do. Where's Yuki?"

"Gee, you think if I found him I'd be doing that shifty rolly thing with my eyeballs like _mature adults _do?" He was trying not to sound upset, but he had a feeling he only came across more senile than ever.

"Sorry, sorry…" Hiro, the ever so good tempered Samaritan took no offense to his short tempered attitude. "What's his deal? Why's he playing hide and seek?"

Shuichi scanned the floor for what was decidedly the final time. He looked down. "…He's not here. I knew he wasn't going to come." A waiter walked by with a tray full of drinks. He reached over and grabbed two without looking at the selection. He handed one to Hiro. "Screw it. Here's to us."

For a minute, Hiro looked as if he had something comforting to say. Something along the lines of 'he said he'd come, didn't he? He'll be here.' But he ended up saying nothing at all. He smiled and raised his drink to Shuichi's.

"To us."

They hit their glasses together, lifted them, and didn't drop them until they were emptied. A few more conversations and cocktails later, what vague traces of disappointment he had felt were almost completely forgotten, along with the fact that he still had a speech to give and a song to perform. Half an hour later he stumbled into the restroom, martini glass still in hand, in search of the much needed relief for his bladder and cold water for his face. He rounded the fancy mirror wall, and turned the corner. His drink slipped out of his hand and crashed to his feet.

There he was. Leaning against the sink counter, cigarette in hand. Wine red shirt, midnight black jacket. Breath-taking as ever.

Nothing produced instant soberness quite like cardiac arrest. Of all the places. Under the lanterns, at the buffet line, even when Tohma was pushing them from table to table. No, they had to bump into each other next to the urinals. It was too late to turn around and pretend he never came in. He was just glad that all the blood in his body rushed to his cheeks and not out his nose. The man turned his head, and exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Don't tell Seguchi I smoked in his million dollar bathroom, and I won't tell him you broke a glass on his million dollar floor."

"Uh…" Shuichi wanted to say hello. In fact, he had been working on his hello for a considerably large portion of the evening. At the moment however, he couldn't manage anything more than another "…Uh."

Yuki looked expectantly at him. That only made him blanch more. He desperately grasped for the right words, any words. When nothing came, he had no choice but to admit to himself that the smart, dry, sophistically snarky greeting line he had been so diligently formulating all night was not going to happen any time soon. Not that he honestly believed he was capable of coming up with something of that nature, him being someone who occasionally had trouble operating microwave ovens.

"That's it. I'm cutting myself off." He shook his head, muttering. "No more martinis."

"I thought you hated martinis."

"I changed my mind." He dropped his head, and watched the tip of his shoe play with the broken pieces of glass. Before the silence could progress form tolerable to overwhelming, he swept the shards out of the walkway with one swift brush of his foot, and forced his head back up. "I thought you were a no-show."

"I changed my mind."

"…Oh."

"What happened to your hand?"

Shuichi looked. The lit end of Yuki's cigarette was gesturing towards the bits of bandage peeping out from the edge of his coat sleeve. He felt the frown rise and press deep lines into his forehead. Why did he ask? What was it to him? It wasn't as if he really cared. He was just fishing for an opportunity to point out his stupidity in the most blatant way possible. It wasn't as if…

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Yuki stated impassively, taking a drag.

"Accident. It was an accident."

"I suggest you order out from now on and give the cooking a rest."

"It wasn't a cooking accident, I…well…it-it doesn't matter."

"Hm." Yuki complied, and dropped the subject entirely. "Congratulations. I didn't know you had so many platinum albums. But then again…" He flicked ash into the chrome finished sink, "I didn't know you had so many albums."

"T…thank you."

"Your mother must be very proud."

"In my opinion she probably thinks dating you was the most praise worthy thing I've done in my life."

It wasn't an 'opinion', really. His mother exerted little effort in keeping their relationship a secret from the relatives and the neighbors and her coworkers and the cashiers at the local grocery and pedestrians who were unlucky enough to walk past her car. She joined five different book clubs just to brag. In regards to his musical career… he and Maiko had a running bet going since junior high on how many times she would attempt to push his recording equipment off the second floor balcony.

"I'd agree with her." Yuki nodded.

"…Am I being commended or mocked? Because you really play up the sarcasm sometimes and I'm bad at picking up nuance."

"Relax." He blew out a slow trail of smoke, "I didn't come to rain on your parade."

"Really." Shuichi wasn't convinced.

"Yes, _really_."

"See. Mocking. You're mocking."

"Very good. You get an A for your observations. And a cookie."

He didn't know if it was all the vermouth in him or not, but their interaction felt relatively comfortable. Their dialogue was, more or less, congenial. Teetering on the edge of flirtatious, really. He hadn't expected Yuki to receive him well at all. He had expected Yuki to show up, super model girlfriend on his arm, insult repertoire fully upgraded, and proceed to shower him with a night of cold malice and icy disregard. He certainly hadn't expected to find the man smoking alone in the bathroom like some highschooler hiding from the homeroom teacher.

"Don't you have some sort of rah-rah speech you need to be giving? Or was I fortunate enough to have missed it already."

There was a three second delay before the realization of pending doom settled in. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Ahh! I haven't gone over my notes yet!"

"You're welcome."

"Ahhhh! Where'd I _put _my notes?"

Yuki heaved a laborious sigh along with something that sounded very much like 'idiot'.

"I have to go. I have to…damnit, I hope they're not in my other pair of pants. Should _not_ have had that last martini. Stupid, stupid…"

He realized in the midst of his panic attack that he had turned his back to Yuki and was about to rush out, rudely forgetting the fact that they were still in the middle of an unfinished conversation. He turned back around stiffly. Had Yuki's gaze always been so paralyzing? Or had it just been too long since their last staring contest? He drew in a cautious breath.

"Thank you for coming. It …means a lot to me."

Through the haze of smoke, Yuki smiled at him. Suddenly, his shirt seemed smaller, his tie felt tighter, and his pants started doing things he'd rather not acknowledge. He practically sprinted from the bathroom.

Once outside, he closed his eyes and focused on willing himself back into a more presentable state. Deep breaths, Shuichi, deep breaths. That's right. Good. Now turn around. Turn around and smile. He piled the sunshine back onto his face, turned, and spun his way straight into Atsushi's chest. The man stumbled two steps back, and struggled to catch Shuichi with one hand while balancing his plate of shrimp salad in the other.

"Woah, woah. Good thing I was a waiter for an unmentionably long period of time or that could have been really disastrous."

"Atsushi! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright." He smiled, "No harm done."

"I'm such an idiot…"

"What's the matter?" He raised a hand and brushed gentle calloused fingers against Shuichi's cheek, "You're really flushed."

"What? Oh, I-I'm fine, really. I'm fine. Just got a little carried away you know, open bar and all. And I totally forgot that I…Atsushi?"

He stopped when he realized that he had lost Atsushi's attention. The man's eyes were singularly fixed in the general area above his shoulder. He turned. Behind them, Yuki was standing by the bathroom door, tucking his cigarettes into his jacket, staring back at the two of them.

He gulped a little more audibly than he meant to.

Atsushi's hand moved from his face to rest against the nape of his neck, where hair met skin, and pulled Shuichi ever so slightly closer to himself. The subtle action appeared to be nothing more than a casual whim, but Shuichi was instantly aware of the deliberate intent and implications behind it. It was the most publicly demonstrative thing Atsushi had ever done. He knew it was in bad taste, not to mention petty and incredibly immature, but he found himself unable to stop scavenging Yuki's face for a reaction.

The blonde gave his jacket a straightening tug with unconcerned placidity, and walked away.

For the second time that night, he felt disappointed for reasons that should have had no cause for disappointment.

"…What was it that you forgot?"

"Huh?"

"You said you forgot something." Atsushi carried on with the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.

"Oh. Right…"

Before he had a chance to relay exactly how screwed he was, Tohma's amplified voice of authority poured through the speakers and answered for him.

"…**And now, ladies and gentlemen, if you would please put your hands together and help me welcome tonight's guests of honor to the stage –"**

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "…My speech. I forgot about the speech."

" –**Bad Luck!"**

Like a pair of hawks, Hiro and Suguru swooped in quite literally out of nowhere, and attached themselves onto each one of Shuichi's arms before he could struggle and make a break for the fire escape. They began physically dragging him backwards towards the stage while demanding in unison,

"Where the hell have you been, we've been looking all over for you, you idiot!"  
"Shindou-san we've been looking everywhere for you! Where were you?"

He looked back at Atsushi, who was shrinking smaller into the crowd, and conjured his most pitiful 'help me' look. Atsushi waved at him, and mouthed the words 'good luck'. It was at times like this when he wished he was born as someone with slightly more useful talents. Like MacGyver. Or a contortionist. Yes, the ability to twist his arms behind his back and over his head without breaking them would be really helpful right about now.

With one hefty shove courtesy of the combined aggravation of his compatriots, Shuichi was pushed into the spotlight, all two hundred and some pairs of eyes locked in on him. There were three of them in the stupid band, why was he the only one who had to give the stupid speech? Stupid Tohma and his unreasonable… stupidness. He coughed twice, and gave his tie a flustered fixing. He tapped the microphone then laughed nervously as sharp feedback screeched through the speakers and the room broke into one collective wave of hands shooting up to cover ears. He apologized, then leaned in, and recited the only part of the speech he could remember:

"Good evening. Everyone. First and foremost, Bad Luck would like to let you all know that it's been an amazing five years, and we couldn't possible have done it without your help and support…"

From then on, he blindly adlibbed for what felt like an eternity, everything from his vacation to the Bahamas last summer to near death encounters with fans to what he watched on TV yesterday. Three minutes later, in true Shuichi nature, he excused himself to use the restroom, and ran off the stage.

He hadn't been quite this mortified since the legendary Shindou Sibling Prank Showdown in which his sister claimed victory by shaving off his eyebrows.

When he shamefully snuck his way back after finally relieving himself, crowd control had been put into effect in the form of a Band Luck video montage that Tohma had thoughtfully prepared for this exact occasion. He would have to remember to thank Tohma when he's groveling for his life. Behind the curtains, he was greeted with matching scowls of the rather murderous kind. Hiro and Suguru seemed to be extremely in tune with each other lately. Too bad it wasn't reflected in their recording sessions.

"I had to go or I would have pissed my pants!" He cried, turning up the whine in his voice, "I got nothing accomplished the last time I tried to go to the bathroom!"

"Was there a huge line?" Hiro was confused. "And by the way, what did the fact that you had pop tarts for breakfast today have to do with our career?"

"You're lucky K-san's on vacation right now. Or he would have made you finish at gun-point, and he wouldn't have cared if you pissed your pants." Suguru was apathetic and clearly still angry. "I told you, I told you we should have gotten a teleprompter."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?"

"You better be," Suguru continued unabashed, stepping close and lowering his voice in what Shuichi had come to learn as an intimidation tactic inherent to all those who had demon Seguchi blood coursing through their veins, "And don't you dare screw up on the piano. I didn't spend all those hours practicing with you for nothing."

"Thanks for the support. Really. Because I'm not nervous enough as it is." He responded flatly.

"You sounded drunk when you were making that _speech_." Suguru said the word 'speech' in a way that really meant 'an utterly catastrophic case of verbal diarrhea'. "Oh Christ, are you still drunk now? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"No I'm not drunk you jerk," Shuichi slapped Suguru's fingers out of his face, "Now move aside so I can go get this over with."

"Are you sure you've done everything you needed to do?" Hiro teased as they walked on stage and assumed their positions as the slide show came to an end. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Wanna go to the bathroom one last time just in case?"

Shuichi ignored him. He would have to remember to flip Hiro the bird when they weren't in front of four hundred people. He took large, proud strides across the stage to the grand piano, and pulled out the chair. The minute he sat down and saw the ivory keys gleaming back at him his bravado left him in one magnificent deflating 'whoosh'.

Hiro made the introductions this time, allotting him a few precious seconds to re-muster his gusto. When Hiro stepped away from the microphone and gave him the go signal, he wasn't ready to go _anywhere_. He did the only thing a panicking muscian could do. Stall for time. He pulled the mic to his face.

"Haha, sorry, I'm just a little…well, what I mean to say is that… I haven't played in front of an audience since my middle school piano recital, so please forgive me if I make an even bigger fool of myself than usual…haha…"

The audience laughed courteously.

Right. That's the only reason he's nervous. Because he hadn't played in a long time. Not because his piano teacher had called him sausage fingers. Not because his producers had told him to quit the keyboards and replaced him with a sixteen year old who kicked his ass to the moon and back. Not because the only time he had ever seen Yuki have an honest to goodness laughing fit was when he tried to play him Moonlight Sonata for his birthday that one year. And _certainly_ not because the man himself was standing at the back of the ballroom eyeing the dessert cart despite carrying a full plate of sweets and he really should stop eating so much damn cake before he balloons up to three hundred pounds…

"Um, yes! I figured since this is our 'anniversary' we should do something special. In celebration and such. So, yes, here we go. This is a new song I wrote a little while ago. I hope everyone likes it…"

There was clapping, and then the room went so dark and so silent he could hear the air being sucked in and out of his nostrils. His heart was thundering against his ear drums, and his hands started to sweat and cramp. Goddamnit. Suguru was right, He didn't sit through ninety hours of Fujisaki boot camp for nothing. This wasn't the time to wuss out. Not in front of all these people. Not in front of Yuki. Not in front of…

-------------------------

"_Hey. Get a grip, kid. It's going to be okay." The man leaned over and started to pull him up. _

_He pushed him away, hard. "No it's not, you liar!" He stayed there on the ground, his pride hurt and his knee bruised, feeling like a six year old who had fallen off his bike. "I broke the mixer and K's going to yell at me and it's all because of you, you stupid, stupid jerk!" He screamed at him, tears spilling out over his face. He didn't want to cry. Not in front of him. Anybody but him. _

"_It's going to be okay."_

"_Stop saying that! Why are you being nice to me? It's not going to be okay… it's not…" he sobbed pitifully. _

_The man knelt down beside him, and took him by the shoulders. _

"_Everything is going to be alright." _

-------------------------

He put his hands to the keys. The first notes were quiet and hesitant, but soon his fingers picked up and began to move on their own. The chords resonated, one after another, in perfect harmony. He let himself breath again. By the time he finished his solo, Hiro and Suguru had joined in respectively, and he was singing and he was lost, all of his problems and anxieties forgotten between the melody and the beat and the pages of sheet music.

It wasn't a concert, it wasn't even an official song debut, but when they finished, it was clear that it had been the best performance they've had all year. The audience was filled with mostly industry professionals, yet they still received a response that could rival that of a stadium full of passionate fans.

Even though he was fairly certain his life was no longer in any immediate danger, he still walked a little faster than normal and avoided eye contact with Tohma as the trio exited stage right. He did it. He didn't mess up, the crowd loved it, and Suguru won't have to throw a hissy fit. With every muscle in his body soothed and relaxed he was completely caught off guard and wholly unprepared for the arms that came shooting out from between the folds of the curtain, pulling him sideways into the cascading fabric. It happened so fast he didn't even have time to call out. He squirmed and bucked and twisted around to a pair of dark eyes and a wide grin.

"Jesus Christ!" He shrieked, "You scared the crap out of me! It's not funny, jerk, stop laughing!"

Atsushi chuckled lowly and pulled Shuichi closer as the smaller man attempted to pummel his captor from within his embrace. "You had me worried," He said, placing kisses in Shuichi's hair and on his cheek. He walked backwards, taking them deeper into the thick layers of curtain, the dark red material cloaking over the both of them. "For a second there I thought you had forgotten how the song went."

"For a second there I _did_." He huffed. "You know you just took ten years off of my life along with the other ten that this whole ordeal has taken? Stop laughing."

Unable to move his arms and grudgingly calmed by the kisses, Shuichi settled for butting his head against Atsushi's shoulder.

"Hey. Do you remember that time you tripped me outside of studio C?"

"You mean that time you fell outside of studio C?"

"Yes, that time you _tripped_ me, and _then_ I fell." Shuichi corrected irately. "I got so nervous before the song I just…froze up. And then I thought about that time, when you told me everything was going to be okay, and it snapped me out of it."

"I remember now." he nodded musingly, "I've never seen a grown man cry like that in my life."

Shuichi pouted and head butted him extra hard. "Why were you so mean to me when we first met, by the way? That was the first time you ever said anything remotely nice to me."

"I don't see how reminding you that you need to be on time for practice constitutes as being mean. Besides, you were an exploding geyser of tears, what else was I suppose to do."

"Oh shut up, you were so much more meaner than that."

"I thought this was about thanking me for saving your butt?"

"You're right." Shuichi sighed softly, and circled his arms around Atsushi's waist. "Thank you. So much."

The taller man ruffled his hair. "You did good, kid."

Hidden inside the heavy drapes of curtain, they shared a long kiss. Outside, the loud clamoring excitement of the party was muted and distant and seemingly worlds away.

A little bit after he and Atsushi re-emerged from behind the stage, Shuichi had turned around and found himself standing alone with a plate of food in his hands, all of his associates scattered across the floor, each of them engaged in separate conversations. He seized the chance to escape the commotion for a couple seconds of silence and a breath of fresh air.

He slipped out the backdoor, and followed the long hallway outside into the gardens. The moon was impossibly bright and the sky was littered with constellations. The night air was cool and sweet and felt wonderful against his skin. Bad Luck was hotter than ever, and he had just delivered a flawless performance that could change the minds of any critic that dared to denounce him as a talentless hack. He should be on the top of the world. Why was there still an unremitting heaviness crushing against his ribcage? He sighed heavily and repeatedly speared the piece of steak on his plate with his fork. Bad manners, yes, but no one was around to—

"It's bad manners to stab your food, you know."

Shuichi jumped, and spun around quickly. "Yuki! What are you doing out here?"

Unlike him, Yuki looked unwaveringly composed, and was standing very closely, a little _too_ closely, behind him. He instinctively took steps backwards, putting some distance between the two of them.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm admiring the topiary." The blonde stepped assertively forward, closing the gap Shuichi had just created.

"…Really?"

"No, of course not, moron. I followed you."

Shuichi frowned. He could practically hear the eye-roll in his voice. Yuki certainly didn't seem as nice without the reality skewing effects of five cocktails.

"Um, do you… need something?" He asked carefully.

"I want to talk." Yuki stated coolly.

"Here? _Now?_" It was hard to keep his voice from pitching.

"Here. Now."

"I'd …really rather we not talk right now…" He said in a mousy voice, as he attempted to side step around the taller man and retreat back to the safety of the party.

To this aversion, Yuki responded by slamming a palm laterally against the arching doorway that led back to the hall, leaving his arm as a barrier between Shuichi and his destination. He lurched over the smaller man, eyes glowering, face inches away.

"And I'd really rather we talk."

Yuki was being unusually aggressive and Shuichi wasn't sure how he should feel or how he should respond. But he was sure that he wasn't going to allow Yuki to bully him into a corner like this. He puffed his chest out, straightened his back, and was just about to tell Yuki to shove it when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash coming from behind a row of immaculately trimmed hedges.

Before Shuichi could even contemplate a reaction, Yuki cut loose with some colorful curses, and grabbed him roughly by the arm. The next thing he knew they were sprinting full speed across the grass, running down daffodils and trampling through the tulips, hauling ass like the apocalypse was chasing after them. One little flash turned into an entire battalion of paparazzi who apparently had been staking out in the bushes for god knows how long. Armed with cameras and flashbulbs and boom mics, they ran after the escaping pair, screaming at their backs.

"Yuki-sensei! Shindou-san! Please, we just have a couple of questions for you! Are you getting back together? Please, Yuki-sensei! Shindou-san!"

Where was K and his land mines and missile launchers and stun grenades when you needed them!? In fact, where was the security _period_? They were on NG grounds for crying out loud!

Yuki towed Shuichi and the train of hysterical reporters out of the gardens, around the corner of the building, and then he braked sharply and ducked into the small stairwell leading to the underground parking garage. As they raced down the narrow passageway of tightly spiraled stairs, Shuichi craned his neck upward and saw the herd of reporters stumble and got stuck, scrambling furiously as they tried to funnel themselves through the tiny doorway. Yuki seemed to have noticed the stall as well, and started pulling him forward with even more force.

"Gawdamnit, what is today, national manhandling day!?" Shuichi squawked, and tried to wrench his arm free with no success. "Yuki, you're hurting me!"

Yuki ignored his cries, picking up the pace, leaping down the stairs three at a time. At this point Shuichi had just about lost control of all his limbs as they flailed wildly about him, his legs barely able to keep up with the momentum. Yuki was a shockingly fast runner for being a completely inactive smoker bum. No wonder he was on the top of every paparazzi hit list.

They shot out of the stairwell and into the dim blue-lit maze of concrete and luxury cars. After they've darted a relatively complex rout through the rows of Bentleys and Porsches, Yuki grabbed him by the neck, and pulled him to the floor. When he was finally released, Shuichi winced and rubbed the back of his neck where he swore he could feel the individual finger indents from Yuki's totally unnecessary kung-fu grip. He half whispered half growled an angry "Ow!" at him. Yuki slapped a hand over his mouth and whisper-growled back a "Shut up."

He tried to do the glare-speech thing Hiro was so good at, but he was never able to master a good glare to begin with, so he ended up seething in silence with Yuki's hand pressed firmly into his face, the both of them squatting uncomfortably behind some guy's silver Jaguar.

It could almost pass as a bizarre bonding experience. If they were still together, that was.

A minute later they heard the pitter-pattering of many, many feet followed by the loud calling of their names and the continual repetition of the phrase "We just want to ask you a couple of questions!" He felt Yuki grab his hand, getting reading to run, and he could feel his already racing heart speed up to an almost inhuman pace. He shut his eyes.

Finally, there was a loud barking – "Hey! You guys are not authorized to be in here!" And they watched as an army of security guards equal in number to the reporters charged their line, and the two groups engaged each other in the time-honored security reporter tradition of pushing and shoving. The two fugitives used the opportunity to escape down into the second layer of parking, away from the fight.

It was quite a while before either of them could breathe regularly enough to speak. Shuichi was the first to catch his breath.

"Yuki, you idiot! This is all your fault!" He shouted.

"_You_ asked me to come to this thing," Yuki snapped back vehemently, "What did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know! I wasn't thinking clearly, okay?"

"That's open for debate," He spat, "I don't think you have enough working brain cells to generate thought."

"Obviously, because I was stupid enough to think it was a good idea to invite _you_!"

"Listen, brat…" Gone was the calm and collected Yuki, who now huffed and puffed and just about exuded rage from every one of his pours. "I've sat around and waited for you to do your little dance. I'm not going to put up with you and your bag of bullshit anymore."

"_Excuse me_!?" Shuichi sputtered. "Me and my _bullshit_?"

"Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"Because I wasn't ready to talk, I told you!"

"No, because you were too busy being fucked into the back of tour buses by your roadie guitarist!"

Yuki's current glare measured off at 'I want to claw your face off with my bare hands'. Shuichi wasn't the least bit intimidated. Well, perhaps, a little. He glared back and stated with deadpan seriousness, pausing deliberately before biting down each word – "You, are a horrible, horrible person. I'm going back to my party."

"I knew this night would end up being a gargantuan waste of my fucking time." Yuki snarled.

"Nobody forced you to come and nobody's forcing you to stay!" He yelled back.

"Fine. I'm leaving."

"Good riddance!"

He could feel the tears coming, and was secretly thankful that Yuki was so kindly volunteering to remove himself from his sight. He blinked in surprise when Yuki lashed out a hand and clamped his fingers down around his wrist again.

"You're coming with me."

"WHAT? Hey- wait! Ow! Yuki!"

And then he was being dragged again. He pulled back and resisted with every ounce of strength he had, it still wasn't enough to free his hand from Yuki's hold. Yuki pulled him straight towards the familiar black sedan shimmering in the corner parking space. He fished out the keys from his pocket and pointed it at the car, the doors unlocking automatically with a sharp chirping _beep-beep_. He flung open the passenger side door and threw Shuichi inside, slamming the door shut in his stunned face. He stalked around the front of the car and got in on the driver's side, pulling the door shut so hard the whole car shook from the impact. Shuichi groped at the door handle and found it locked.

"Open the door!" He cried. "This-this is kidnapping!"

"For fuck's sake, stop acting like a retard."

"You can't do this, Yuki, let me out!"

"Shut up and put on your seatbelt."

"I want to leave! Let me out! Open the door right now, damnit, let me– Mmmrrrph!"

The mouth that silenced him was forceful and relentless and hot and moist and everything he remembered it to be. His mind exploded into a million white dots and he felt his bones melt and turn liquid. He brought his hands up to Yuki's chest and pushed him back with more determination than his shaky voice was letting on.

"W-what are you doing? It's not funny…"

"…Am I laughing?"

Yuki's eyes were burning with a fierce and dangerous intensity. His brows were drawn low, and the edges of his lips curled slightly. Shuichi knew that expression. The expression that told him he was about to be devoured alive, and that he wasn't going to be walking right for the next three days. The expression that told him he belonged to someone, and that someone was about to stake his claim. His hands trembled. He turned his face away.

"Look at me." Yuki ordered.

Shuichi stuck his bottom lip out in defiance and stared at the speedometer.

"Look at me!" He repeated, harsher.

"I want to go, Yuki. Let me out." He said weakly.

"Is that what you really want?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. If only he could teleport himself out of the car if he concentrated hard enough. He couldn't think like this, not with Yuki towering over him, staring him down, asking him questions he didn't have answers to. He felt Yuki's hand grip his chin and lift it. He reluctantly opened his eyes and slowly met Yuki's prying gaze.

"Is he who you really want?"

The anger was gone from his voice along with all traces of mockery and sarcasm. There was only an immense gravity of seriousness that made Shuichi feel hopelessly trapped.

"Answer me and I'll let you out of the car."

Silence.

"Answer me, Shuichi."

When Shuichi didn't answer, Yuki leaned in and kissed him again. Fingers wove roughly into his hair, and a hand caught his waist, pulling their bodies together. Shuichi squirmed and raised his hands to push Yuki away, only to have them caught and effortlessly pinned above his head against the car window. With both arms pinned in place, he struggled helplessly and resorted to kicking. Holding his wrists captive with a single palm, Yuki wrapped his free arm around Shuichi's thrashing thigh and jerked it upwards, pushing his knee under the smaller man's bent leg and held Shuichi firmly between himself and the car door. He pressed his mouth to him again. Shuichi shivered when the hand on his thigh slid up past his hips, and under his shirt.

"Yuki, stop…" He pleaded between kisses, breathing hard, cheeks burning.

Yuki didn't stop. And when Yuki pulled down his zipper, wrapped his fingers around him, and stroked, he gave in. He let Yuki touch him, let Yuki kiss him, and let Yuki fuck him in the front passenger seat of his Mercedes Benz.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**AN:** Holy crap apples, it's been a freakin' year. I suck. Well, at least I finished it in time for Eiri's Birthday. As an apology for the super long hiatus, please accept this small token (with closed spaces and what not):

i61 . photobucket . com / albums / h47 / Hsuany / stuff / ec . jpg

I _will _finish this story. I promise promise promise.


End file.
